Darkness O'er the Land
by Trevor X
Summary: Knight's valor, mage's arrogance, pride of the elves. Soon all will fall before the invading forces from beyond, but in the small village of Undermane a few knights must deal with their own problems...
1. Disclaimer

Warcraft is copyright by Blizzard, a great company with great gaming concepts. This work of fiction disclaims any monetary profit (like anyone would pay for it...), unless Blizzard would care to offer me something for it... in which case it would no longer be on FF.net.  
  
This story is based on the premise of Warcraft III, however, since I don't own the game, it won't be according to the storyline contained therein. Some facts that I portray in the universe may be out of kilter with actual facts, but the reader will please to pardon them, as the ignorance of the author is to blame... It's not like they printed up a map and history books for me...  
  
Enough, proceed to the telling of the tale... 


	2. Prologue

Azeroth. Land of beauty and pleasure, far outstripping the lesser lands to the North save only the country of the Elves for the height of their culture. Weapons they had almost to be likened in strength to the dwarves. And courage second to none. This land have I never seen in its day, for before the time of my birth, it was overrun by the Horde.  
  
Where they came from, none could rightly say; only that they came from another world. And they had. They covenanted with and subjected the enemies of my people, the trolls. Then they brought the horrors from hell; demons and undead. The country was covered with blood, spilled from the veins of commoner and noble alike. No pity was shown either for male or female, young or old. All were slaughtered alike, and in this manner they broke the proud armies of Azeroth. At the last, the survivors fled across the ocean to seek refuge in Lordaeron.  
  
Thence also followed the vanguard of the Horde.  
  
Thus begins my tale. Born of elf and human, my lineage traces from both peoples, and the character of both runs in my veins. Blood has run under the Horde from my family, and it need not surprise you that I despise it, and all that it stands for. I am dedicated to the destruction of the Horde.  
  
And yet, it may surprise you that I bear the singular orcs themselves no ill will. Nay, they themselves have been the unwilling slaves of others that have corrupted them, and once freed, I bear them less bitterness than the trolls, who have ever been the bane of my mother's ancestors. Even the trolls themselves are at this point to be pitied, for their society has suffered in the wreck of the Horde, and the destruction that it brought. No longer do they rush in battle array, proudly defying us; they slink about hoping to avoid the vengeance of an angered people. But enough of them.  
  
My beginning days were spent in a secluded village in Lordaeron, and from the start, my training as a ranger. All the skills of woodcraft are mine, as well as archery and swordplay. I have hunted the orc and troll from the age of fifteen, when my trials began. Each youth from my village is given two trials before being considered an adult. One test, for wisdom; the other for courage. Suffice to say that I passed them both, and took my place in the ranks of the Hunters. Mayhap it is as you expected, numbers of females were present there as well. Mostly they betook themselves to the Scouts, as their lighter figures were more able to blend with their surroundings. Let it not cross your mind that they had no ability to fight...  
  
At the age of eighteen, leaving behind the woods of my people, I joined the ranks of the paladins. And now, four years later, I am again, a ranger. Why you ask? Because it was my chosen path, and one that is necessary for now. Not to say that the skills that I learned while training as a paladin were for naught, indeed, one might consider me a "Holy Ranger", as I incorporate the power of the paladin with the stealth and skill of the ranger. Indeed, this has come to hand many times to the salvation of certain situations...  
  
My name is Danil Braveheart. I am but a simple knight of Lordaeron, having no claim either to family or fame. Indeed, I have no necessity of either. What my arm brings, that I am content with. I have seen nigh unto forty summers come and go, and with it the coming and passing of the Horde.  
  
I have seen the time when mothers would still their infants with the dread of foul creatures in that great body. Undead, orcs, trolls, dragons. But that time has passed, and now there is another that we fear more deadly than the Horde in its day of fame. The Legions of Hell. T'is they which have driven the orcs to the depravity which they have shown. Not that I would excuse them more than that for their dastardly deeds, but one must needs be fair, if he would be a Knight of Lordaeron. But again, we fear more the Legions from the Burning Plain.  
  
Against them now is my sword drawn in combat, and I have found myself fighting beside those whom I fought against not so long ago. I care not, and if truth be told, the wiser heads among the leaders of the Alliance would have shown mercy to them, but were overruled by the fears and hatred of the others. No matter, politics is not what I will be bothered with, but how to strike, and protect.  
  
Indeed, such is my skill.  
  
Let not this tale of ours stay you from the story that now lies beyond... 


	3. Despair or Hope?

Borqk, leader of fifty orcish warriors could sense that time was running out. At least, he used to be the leader of fifty warriors; his command was down to sixteen. They had been attacked by a lesser demon, and had pursued and nearly killed it, when of a sudden they were sprung upon by an ambush. Three other monstrosities of hell descended upon them as they finished the first demon. He realized that they had been lucky to get this far.  
  
The remaining orcs had fled from the ambush, and had been running non stop to this point. The gods only knew why they had not been finished off yet. A cry and one of his warriors fell on his face to dodge the fateful flight of an arrow. Abruptly the orcs ceased their retreat. The way was blocked by a knight and his contingent of footmen, accompanied by several archers, and two elven rangers. Borqk stepped forward to confront the patrol, and gestured angrily to behind him. "Flee you fools," he growled.  
  
The knight lifted his visor and glared. "Whither shall we flee, and why praytell?" The orcs muttered uneasily betwixt themselves, and Borqk grunted. "Flee whithersoever you like, but let us pass on our way. The demons pursue us."  
  
The footmen stirred uneasily until they were quelled by their leader. "Silence!" he roared. "There will be no flying, whate'er pursues. We will stand and face them." Turning to Borqk, he regarded him coolly. "I know you not, orcmaster, but form your men up behind mine. If there be needs to flee, thou shall go firstly."  
  
Borqk nodded grimly. Gesturing to his men, he led them to the rear of the group. Glancing again at the humans, he saw one of the rangers proceeding with some sort of ritual. All of the footmen raised their weapons, which were bathed in a holy glow. The archers likewise held up their quivers, and they received the same treatment. Bowing for a moment, the ranger made his way towards the group of orcs, supported by his companion. Most of them eyed the two warily.  
  
"Hold up your blades, and I will give you a holy aura on your weapon. It will improve your attack against the demons." Slowly, the leader nodded to his warriors, and each of them held up his weapon, as the ranger chanted some words. Almost unnervingly, the weapons began to glow. The ranger had been standing on his own whilst this was going on, but he now almost collapsed and was caught by his companion. She supported him back to their lines, unaware of the scrutiny poured upon them from their uneasy allies.  
  
Borqk noted the elven blood taled upon the features of the rangers. The female was fair and slender of frame, with piercing grey eyes. Her visage was of one who's days were spent in sobriety, without cheer or merrymaking. Her femininity showed through her bearing, and her clothes, though they were of somber hue. The male of the same quiet calm as his companion, seemed almost wise beyond his years. A stern visage he had, and fair of face, though dark of hair and eyes. Darkest blue they flashed, and matched the grey for piercing.  
  
"Thallien, you overstrain yourself. Pull back! I care not to be the one returning telling the council that you have expired from overuse." Wearily her companion stood more to his feet, replying to her concerns. "Nay, I shall not overwork, but this task of hunting demons tries me sorely when I am the only one with the skills of a paladin among this grouping. It is necessary for our survival in this case, so I shall extend myself. Methinks it would be more fitting were a paladin riding with the company, but at present, they are all occupied elsewhere, so we must bear with it." Finally with these last words, he shifted his remaining weight to his own feet, allowing his companion to walk without supporting him.  
  
Slight concern still etched upon her brow, but she refrained from saying more upon the subject. He was right. The knight looked up at their approach. "Riversong, Thallien, are you prepared?" His gaze took in the wearied state of his scouts. His brow lowered in remembrance of the trials of the day. Already they had flushed out two demons, and dispatched of them, although losing three men in the process. The rangers were of immeasurable help, especially with the powers that they possessed; but the strain was beginning to tell, and he could not be sure that they would last the day out. Demons had the tendency to pick on the weakest members of a party first, thereby weakening the party.  
  
"Yea Sir Danil, indeed, though I will confess to hoping that this be the last foray of the even." The male ranger spoke seriously, his gaze upon the knight's steely eyes. The other fidgeted slightly in the saddle of his horse. "Well, make haste then, we await the completion of the line."  
  
The rangers hurried to the front of the waiting group of men, and began to forge their course through the meanderings of the trees. Above all others, rangers have a link to nature that allows them to sense things unordinary that would be bypassed by a commoner. Waving his hand, the knight bid his men follow along, keeping a steady line, slightly staggered to allow better deployment to either flank. Then he gestured to Borqk, who reluctantly ordered his warriors to follow the van.  
  
Riversong motioned for the party to stop half an hour after the meeting of the forces. An unnatural stillness hung over the valley which they had entered, and both rangers felt that the demon forces were in the locale. It did not take them long to strike. Shrieking a hellish scream, the first demon bore down from the sky straight at the group of footmen, who's faces belied their fear. Though panicked, they held place under the stern eye of the knight, and the archers loosed a flight of arrows at the creature.  
  
Several struck and pierced into the beast, and wounded, its flight path wavered, taking it down behind the lines. Several footmen stepped forward to finish it off, and were joined by two of the orcish warriors. It was at this juncture that the other demons struck, criss-crossing the field. Riversong faced the one that swooped down upon her, hand steady upon the bow that had been the bane of many an adversary. Her arrow flew true, but the demon dodged, and so was only wounded from the attack. It's flaming sword, full of evil magics, grazed her side. She was flung to the ground and lay unmoving.  
  
The arrows of the archers had pierced the wing of the other demon, and as it had been wounded in the encounter with the orcs, it fell to the ground and was now engaged in combat with both the warriors and footmen. The archers continued to pour flights of arrows into it until it could barely stand. Borqk finished it off with one blow through the chest, that pierced through the heart; if such creatures possessed such an organ.  
  
Turning, he noted the battle had come to a standstill, and the second ranger standing over the body of the first, sword drawn. The knight backed him, but had ever an eye out for any ambuscade; demons were notorious for such things. The demon seemed to grin before plunging down to finish it's bloody work. The elf stood true, parrying the blade with his own, then thrusting quick as lightning into the creature's wing joint, bringing it down to the earth where it met fate at the same blade.  
  
Dropping to his knees, Thallien laid hands upon his companion and bluish light shown around the wounded area whilst it closed up. Riversong opened her eyes not long after. A long gaze was shared between them, and Borqk concluded that there was some kind of understanding between them. Then supporting the female, they limped back to the main group. "Are we finished my lord?"  
  
The knight nodded. "Indeed." Turning his gaze back to Borqk, he spoke almost sternly to the orcs. "We detain you no longer. Take your journey whithersoever thou will; even if it be to the very heart of our town. Only behave yourself with the utmost honor, or I shall hunt you down, as in the early days." Borqk bowed solemnly. "As it is with you, with us also." Turning, he and his warriors headed into the forest.  
  
Turning to his men, Sir Danil bid them make stretchers for the wounded, and that being done, the whole returned on their path to the town. 


	4. Shadows Cast

The scene within the village was of hustle and bustle as the tired troops straggled in from their various patrols. Each column was led by one or two forms on horseback, most of whom seemed to exude power and control, not being wearied like the footmen from the day's exertions. Upon entering, the footmen would march away to their barracks, whilst the knights made their way to the command center that had been set up.  
  
Sir Danil was dismounting in front of the building where he and his comrades took their counsel when he was hailed by an armor-clad figure on the board covered walk. "Aye, we see. Is not the great returned from their endeavors; and how many falls shall we attribute to thy fame this even?" The great bold laugh came, as the now dismounted knight near scowled at his fellow. "Not too well? Pray, come ease your complaints with a bottle of vintage." Amlius the Strong was known for great boastings; he unfortunately had the wherewithal to back them up.  
  
"Save fair words for the morrow. As for the day, come inside and we shall all know how it has passed; for all." The heavy stamping of all the knights as they entered the doorway and took their seats disallowed any further comments at this point. Each man as he came through the doorposts received a goblet filled with spiced wine, the effect of which was to keep the body awake. Then each would proceed to a prior assigned seat, and the knight commander or Lord would take charge. This evening as always, a quiet hum seemed to settle over the group whilst they waited for the beginning of the meeting.  
  
A slow methodical step filtered through their scattered converse, silencing the room by scales as the knight commander took his place at a rough podium in the front. With studied deliberateness, he turned and all converse ceased. Stern eyes beneath the whitening hair kept many men doing their duty when all else failed, and by example, he was a fell warrior, though perhaps past the prime of his youth. "What, good sirs, do you have to report."  
  
One by one, a half a dozen of those seated arose to report nothing out of the ordinary on their respective hunts. A sighting by Lendard, although he had been unable to make contact. Amlius' group had run into an ambush and managed to kill one and maim a second. Duragon Trollbane's archers had brought down one at level for the footmen to finish off, though he had lost several men in the process.  
  
At the last, Danil stood himself to make his report. His hardened gaze swept over the gathering before returning to rest on the commander. "My tale for the day amounts to two in hunting, and three whence returning." Immediately there was a murmuring amongst the others and two knights started to their feet. A silent raising of the commander's hand stilled the confusion and he gestured to Danil to continue. Bowing silently the knight continued his tale.  
  
"My rangers, which all of you have despised, flushed out the trail of the demons from the start of the morning. We swept southward and eastward, coming to a portion of the forest where it seemed the air was ill at ease. There we found the first demon, and it was killed by several flights that we loosed upon it. In it's dying throes, it screamed and we found ourselves suddenly under assault by a second, perhaps it's companion.  
  
"Indeed, I lost three men in its first pass, but for the solid bearing of the footmen, even in the face of the terror, we might have had more loss. But they withstood it, and it was shot down by the rangers.  
  
"Coming on the way home at the end of my hunt, we came upon a small group of orcs, fleeing northward from an ambush. Retracing the path, we found the three demons, one of whom was previously wounded in the fray with the orcs. There I nearly lost several men, as well as my scouts, and indeed have brought back wounded with me. The orcs I released to go withersoever they desired, as I held their pledge of honor.  
  
"That ends my account."  
  
Danil sat back into his seat.  
  
Near chaos broke out. Several men stood again to their feet, and Amlius spoke for them. "Why did you let the foul creatures go?" His voice was deadly serious, and Danil felt that the matter would not rest, no matter what explanation were offered. The knight commander slammed his gauntlet down upon the wooden podium that he stood before. "Enough!" he roared. Silence immediately returned, and most of those standing cowered back into their seats. Grey eyes flashed from beneath his stern visage, and anger visibly constrained burned from their depths.  
  
"Ware against judging of another! Know ye not the import of your accusations?" The deep thunderous voice seemed to echo among the simple depths of the room. "You assault the very honor of the one who speaks, which is to be held dear above all else, even the life of the holder. Ware, ware! Do not speak of that which you do not know!"  
  
Turning his gaze upon the rugged knight who gazed in defiance of all the accusations, he continued in a quieter tone. "Orcs, though perhaps valuable prize at one time, are not prey; except there come some rogue band burning and killing. Honor is above all to be prized, and we will honor the binding word which you have sworn." Danil bowed courteously, and the commander dismissed the assembly.  
  
As the crowd filtered out to their respective lodgings, Danil found himself joined by Duragon Trollbane. A troubled silence fell over them, as they trod the way, being lodged together near their men. Danil first broke silence. "Well cousin, dost blame an old fool for his actions?" The other looked up sharply. "Say not so! Wouldst I not have done the same if placed thus? T'is only those who hold glory and deeds of war in high esteem that decry thy nobility in dealing thus."  
  
"Then thou wouldst stand by me?"  
  
"Aye, and moreso; even as thou wouldst do thyself."  
  
"Then my heart has been lightened. Come, let us mend our pace. I fear that victuals have long been delayed for both of us."  
  
Turning onto the level side street, they entered the door of their dwelling.  
  
Valia Riversong, elf maiden of many summers turned herself upon the cot inside the shelter of boughs wherein she dwelt nigh unto the village. Though wounded in the battle, she nonetheless had the endurance of her race. Her hair flowed freely now, though most oft hid under the shade of her hood when hunting. Near seventy years of men had she lived under the sun, and yet her beauty grew upon her instead of diminishing.  
  
Now her glance lay upon the other cot, where her charge spent time in the evenings. A hand strayed without thought to the place of her wounding. Momentarily a soft glowing, one that would have been unnoticed by a commoner, then she straightened and left the confines of the dwelling. The wood held healing not known by the commoner by virtue of its creation. The peacefulness oft drove cares from the mind, and where the peace was disturbed; there was a creature of evil. Ah, tonight the caroling trills of the birds filtered down from the branches, contemporary to the trickling of the brook nearby.  
  
Eyes closed, the elf sat at the edge of the tiny waterway, taking in all the sounds of the growing evening. The nightbirds began their daily hauntings, as the sun set itself on the horizon. Sudden silence in the glade awoke her out of her meditation. Something evil was on the prowl.  
  
And then he was there; not the incarnate form of evil, but one of those that wander about. The elf stood suddenly upon her feet. Evil washed from the dark shroud covering the man-form that stood but a little away. "I have come."  
  
She drew back and stood against him, weaponless though she was. "T'is obvious from the first. But why dost thou this thing? Knowest thou not that all such are accursed to bondage in their wanderings from place to place till destruction?"  
  
"Yea, and so all would have believe. But for the moment we of the darkness have great power and will take what we will."  
  
Wary with premonitions, the elf stood for a moment before continuing questions. "What dost thou desire then? I canst see naught in such an sleepy hamlet that wouldst concern such as thee."  
  
A dread wind unseen burst forth from the figure, and a deep laugh came from within the shroud. "Certainly not 'in' the hamlet, as thou so aptly named it. What I have before me is not inside of the hamlet. Your kind are needed; for study as it were. So I have come, since my wanderlings have detected you within our domain."  
  
"You and your protégé will take up permanent dwelling within our residence."  
  
"Nay! Study thyself, if thou seest such need in thy evil designs, but leave those fair to be untarnished by thine darkness!"  
  
"Nevertheless, I take thee, and thy pupil."  
  
A dark flash of thunder resounded, then the wood cleared leaving no trace of the previous inhabitants. Ripples in the background betrayed a presence, a tall figure stepped from the background, stepping lightly to the place of the conversation. A glint of grey flashed, as though anger had taken inner light, then vanished again into the darkness. 


	5. The Shadow Strikes

"Our presence here has been betrayed. Our mentor be taken." Soft breathing followed, then footsteps upon a wooden floor. The pacing continued, even as the speaker subsided from the length of his report. "Wither away? For we must needs have news before we depart. And yet I like not any suddenness, as I shall have to seek leave of absence for our company."  
  
"I leave then to procure our lead. I shall send for thee as soon as I find anything. Meanwhile, stay thy hand here, and hold thyself in readiness. Their forays can cease for the time being; other than perhaps the patrol to keep clear the road, or more as they may choose." The doorway was darkened by a figure for a moment, then it disappeared into the darkness that had already settled over the landscape. Passing quickly through the guard posts, it vanished like a spirit into the forests.  
  
A second figure came through the doorway, stopping only long enough to lock the building against intrusion. *Mayhap I shall pass this way again, but for present let it alone. I have an errand to accomplish. I rest not then, until it be done; for time is of the essence. Forgive my departure, my lord.* Stepping into the night, he wound his way into the streets of the town.  
  
Danil was startled out of his dozing contemplation by the fireside by a quiet by insistent knock on the door. Wondering, he went to answer it, and stood by the opening for a moment to converse with the person standing on the other side. After a few moments in low tones, he slowly shut the door, and turned to find Duragon standing quietly behind him. Slow his movements, and he heavily reseated himself before the hearth. "Forsooth, evil doth come in great measure in unlooked for paths." Duragon became somewhat alarmed at that, and seated himself beside his companion.  
  
"What pray tell causeth thee such grief? For t'is alarming, seeing thee so!" Danil turned to his cousin, face deadly serious. "Dread tale brought by one of my rangers. An ancient evil has returned to these hills. In alliance with the Dread Legion, it begins to cast its tangled webs once again around us. One of my rangers is missing, the others go now to hunt for its hiding place. And yet I canst feel almost despair at the prospect, when such a time is upon us."  
  
"What shadows can now lay upon us that herald such a tale of woe?"  
  
"Dread lords of a time long past, though they held no noticeable advancement of realm, much power was in their ranks. Of men and elves, and other beings t'is told. A darkness dwells in their presence, and they fly upon the wings of the wind to travel their domains. They held much sway over events ere the time that they were destroyed, history records not how. It is rumored that they have arisen again."  
  
Thus passed the first even in the tale of the Souderland, and what transpired thereafter will be recorded in due time, as the events unfolded.  
  
Relentless upon the hunt she was, treading fairly the ground unknown. Her hunt had lasted most of the past week, leading into the hill country north of the village of Undermane. Sending message to her friend in the south, she continued to probe the hills for the emanating source of evil that had drawn her nigh.  
  
It would be a few more days ere the message reached him, and then she would have twice the power to sweep clean the area from the domination whereunto it had fallen. If need be, she would send for the whole host of her sister rangers who had come to the south. Nothing would withstand their combined power, unless it be concentrated in a greater amount.  
  
Her eyes glinted grey in the now waning light. Time to find shelter, they would no doubt be moving as soon as the shadows lengthened. Of a sudden her senses ran wild: someone was in the area. Still as the trees about her, she listened, and out of the emptiness heard a voice.  
  
"Nassiel..."  
  
A whisper in the dark.  
  
"...come."  
  
The command, it must be!  
  
Nocking an arrow, in the constant practice as smooth as life, she loosed it at the dark form that had materialized in front of her. The weapon pierced the cloud and continued on its way, lodging itself in the trunk of a tree beyond. Her bow flew magically from her grasp, and she backed away from the advancing figure. A tree behind her stopped her retreat, and still the shadow came on. Putting her hands behind her to balance herself against the trunk should there be any chance to attack again, she suddenly found that her wrists had increased in weight! Shackles! But...? Her world suddenly lost its vision, as she fell forward into the waiting arms of the shadow.  
  
A dark flash, and the shadow disappeared, leaving the wood as though it had never been.  
  
His search had led him northward, though not as fast as could be expected. Now that he had received the message, he pressed on at double speed. He could discern that some altercation was taking place in a particular spot, and three days ahead of Nassiel's reckoning, he was coming.  
  
Too late! Alas that he should come just in time to see them vanish, the elf and the shadow! Not a sign that any had occupied the area; even the bow had disappeared. Slowing his pace, Thallien continued to circle the place. Pausing momentarily, his sharp eyes discerned the arrow protruding from the tree. Ah, proof he had now. Let the hunt begin...  
  
Taking from the pouch under his cloak a tiny parchment, he fastened it to the leg of the pigeon that awaited him at his campsite. Releasing the bird, he watched as it winged its way back to the south. Now for the hunt. Divesting himself of all but the most necessary possessions, he started northward. Evil seemed to exude itself from a certain point.  
  
A prayer escaped his lips to the God of Light, "Do not allow me to fall to this darkness!"  
  
Taking a bearing on the pulsating source of power, the ranger crept silently forward. For ease of travel, he'd left his bow behind, taking only a sword. His grayish brown cloak thrown around his shoulders covered the green of the rangers' uniform. Dark boots completed the uniform, and the soft leather of which they were crafted allowed the silence in which the rangers crept throughout the forests and hills of the realm.  
  
Perhaps again he should be too late, and perhaps there would come no answer to the summons that he had sent, but it was his destiny to try. He must needs continue to fight evil, even though he died himself in the process. No less could e'er be expected. Silent as a shadow, he drifted northwards...  
  
A week has passed. Danil Braveheart gazed again upon the winding trail that was his responsibility now. Duragon Trollbane was as always his constant companion nowadays; though the altercations regarding treatment of the orcs had perforce driven wedges into the brotherhood of the knights, the cousins' bond had strengthened. Duragon had taken vocally his comrade's part.  
  
Now the two rode patrol on the northern road, keeping wary watch for any unscrupulous characters. It was a tiring job, most always handled by several knights, but there had been rumors of a renegade burning and destroying off to the east, mostly small farms or homesteads. Patrols had been cut in order to send off men to hunt for the perpetrators. Amlius the Strong had been given the leadership of the group.  
  
The past four days had been tiring, as a group of four knights had been detailed to patrol the road in groups of two, twelve hours at a stretch. Now as evening drew nigh, the two looked forward to being relieved and the several hours sleep that awaited. The horses were weary, dusty from the long road, and probably looked forward to the stables. Southward they trotted, hoofs grinding up the dirt, wind only slightly shifting their manes. Ahead, their masters discerned the relief party on the way outward.  
  
Stopping their mounts at the juncture, Danil awaited the other two knights. His visor was lifted, revealing the tired lines upon his face. "Hail brethren! No problems upon the road this night, thou shouldst have smooth riding; yet keep up thy guard."  
  
Saluting with their right arms, the two relievers rode off on the road. Danil turned his mount again towards the home stable. Close behind followed his companion, eager to attain his well deserved rest. Yet as they entered the town, there seemed to be an air of unease in the guards that they encountered. Releasing their tired mounts to the care of a groom, they headed towards their dwelling.  
  
"Sir Knight! Yea sir!"  
  
Duragon turned his head, catching sight of a young man on foot, sprinting towards him. He put a restraining hand upon his cousin's shoulder. Wearily the elder knight turned back, waiting patiently for the messenger.  
  
"Message for you sir!" Snapping to an attentive state, his hand held out a small piece of parchment. Danil took it withal, nodding gently to the young man before turning his attention directly to the letter. Duragon stayed the lad for a moment. "What with the unrest amongst the town?"  
  
The lad's brow raised momentarily. "Aye, I be forgetting ye were gone. The renegades have been destroyed, but perhaps at cost; Amlius Strong has been worsted in a bad way, though no others. They say he is to recover, but that he is worse tempered than before."  
  
The elder knight looked sharply up from his missive, a hint of doubt turning his features dark momentarily. "T'would be ill to speak of such things then till all is clear." The lad colored slightly before turning again to his errands. Duragon turned his gaze upon his cousin. "What pray tell has thee so unsettled?" Danil breathed deeply before gesturing to the doorway. "Inside, over our meal." 


	6. By Haft and Shaft

Inside their dwelling, Danil was taciturn as ever concerning what he had read in note. That is, until the maid had cleared the table and departed to her own quarters. Duragon looked up attentively as his cousin began to speak.  
  
"T'is a simple letter from the last of my rangers. He has located the lair of the accursed sorcerers, but they have taken his companions. At present, he says he can enter the lair and save them, but requests that we summon aid from without - either the tower of the mages, or the Order of the Silver Hand."  
  
"As things are, I cannot leave the town. Ere the morn comes however, I shall send off a messenger to the north. Mayhap we shall hear some reply within a day or two."  
  
So saying, Danil arose and headed for the door to the dwelling. Turning at the last moment, he regarded his cousin. "Pray to the gods that we obtain some help." He hastened through the doorway. Duragon nodded absently, picking up the note from where it lay upon the table and perusing its contents. Stroking his beard, he secreted it among his clothes before heading out to the house of the record keeper.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
With silent skill and precision the shadow flowed through the great and ancient halls. Of a time, this had been a great dwelling of the good and pious, devoting themselves to betterment of others. However, ancient minds had turned from others to themselves. Of their end it was recorded, though not how they died. Now others followed their evil ways, seeking to resurrect the evil powers that had brought so much devastation.  
  
Time here however seemed to all but stand still. No hurry pervaded the ancient corridors, even though the shadows made haste in their paths. Of solid rock they were carved, and though containing no magic, they yet radiated a modicum of magics cast long ago.  
  
Many passages he tried, failing still to find that which he sought. Fits of despair threatened to overshade. He tired of the feeling of helplessness that wandering here seemed to bring. Still he pressed ever onward into the seeming labyrinth of gloom. Finally he stilled his feet and listened.  
  
Of a first, there came no sound to where he stood silent and unmoving. Minutes passed, and he, already chafing at the delay, made to move on again when a rustle of silken fabrics came to ear. Unmoving, the ranger praised the God of Light for the protection of his concealment. Presently a dark form swept along the way, pompous in it's stride. Forward it pressed, seeming to be in eager haste.  
  
Once more did he take up the trail; but this time with a guide.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Dark mind full of evil thoughts, the dark elf Garrel walked the stone corridors of the dark fortress. What mattered it that he was the least of the dark ones? He could therefore enjoy himself more - though truth be told, he did more work than any of the others. His last catch was the most noble so far, and he intended to have his use out of them before he lost them to the dark experiments of the other wizards. He walked unawares of the shadow that he had picked up. His intentions served to cloud his senses.  
  
A hurried pace he kept throughout the darkened passages, till he came at last to the door of a holding cell, deep under the ground. Pausing for a moments span, his dark eyes gleamed with an unnatural light. Speaking the word of command, he eased open the door. There upon the floor lay the objects of his desire.  
  
Fierce and smoldering were the gazes that fixed upon his visage as soon as he stepped foot in the room. The two were bound hand and foot, and even now as he laughed, a certain fear began to creep into their hearts. "Begone fiend!" Nassiel spat as he drew nearer.  
  
"Nay, I shall not." An amused glance over the prey. "I have other things in mind. Perhaps, if you allowed yourselves, you might find it pleasurable."  
  
Valia shuddered at the passions which lay behind his gaze, even now his intentions clear. "Never. We would die first, than be so disgraced." Her eyes blazed cold fury, causing the dark elf to back a step. "You would, would you? Alas that you should find it so. Yet I shall give you cause to regret your rash decision. I take your apprentice firstly."  
  
"Nay, shalt not lay one hand upon her."  
  
A clear voice rang out from behind him, and Garrel spun on his heel to confront the intruder. A tall elven ranger stood framed in the doorway, sword in hand, grim death in his eyes. As the dark elf raised hand and voice to cast a spell, the foe lunged forward. Fire flew from Garrel's fingertips, scorching the ranger's side as he twisted away from the attack.  
  
Yet still he pressed inward, his blade glowing white as he plunged it into the wizard's heart. The dark elf stiffened, then plunged forward on his face. Burned and bleeding, the ranger crawled over to the captives and cut the cords that bound their hands. Nassiel bounded to her feet and retrieved the sword of their rescuer and stood guard at the door, whilst Valia tended to his wound. With his side firmly bandaged, Thallien finally arose and took from under his cloak a second short sword and passed it to his elder.  
  
Valia took the familiar weapon almost reverently, then led the way into the hall. Silent stood the one and twain; still as the breathless morn. In noiseless, unmarked way did Valia Riversong lead her pupils; ever and anon upward. But once did she pause in the journey, to retrieve the weapons that had been taken and stored in a chamber just off of the gate. Melting into the shadows of the forest, the three took their path southward.  
  
T'was eventide, and the rangers had lain in their encampment for the span of about five hours. Thallien lay in a deep slumber, whilst Nassiel kept constant watch to the north. Valia merely meditated, while her hand still gripped her blade, ready for action. That their escape should pass unnoticed was unthinkable, for the ancient fortress bespoke of magicks unknown, and mayhap a spell of revelation would speak of events as they had availed themselves.  
  
"We return to Undermane."  
  
Nassiel turned towards her elder, questions unasked hanging upon her brow. Valia arose slowly from her seated posture, grey eyes glinting in the remaining light of the setting sun.  
  
"T'is time. Naught more can we here than what is already accomplished. And he," gesturing at the remaining member of the party, "needs rest. Also the ministry of a cleric or healer, if one is available; none of which pertain to remaining."  
  
Even as she spoke, Thallien arose, wincing nigh imperceptibly at the pain from his wound. Though healed enough to allow travel, their skill fell short of one trained precisely in that art.  
  
"Enough. While we still have light, let us forge ahead."  
  
With the swiftness common to their race, camp was broken, and by sundown no trace remained of their presence in that place.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A lone rider approached the forbidding mass that was the tower of the mages. His horse was lathered with sweat, and the man atop looked weary nigh unto death. Nevertheless, he would not be dissuaded from his mission until he had presented his case. Therefore, council had been called and the messenger allowed to state his purpose.  
  
Behind the closed and assuredly locked doors, rose a murmur of voices. At times a purvey of silence alluded to the fact that the messenger was speaking his piece, mayhap those summoned were reading some parchment that he had brought. To those outside the chamber, speculation was a trite way of passing the time while waiting for the news to become general. Most of the mages in the tower wore blue robes, but for the tall man by the window, it made for a dull showing.  
  
Bertrand, (called by some, "The Bold") disdained to walk quite in step with his fellow mages. Which is why he opted for a patterned cloak of yellow and gray. And also why he sat by the window and calmly viewed the open sky, understanding immediately why the messenger had come. Someone, somewhere, needed help. Of the arcane sort, to be sure. Otherwise they wouldn't have sent to the mages. Of course his fellows could conjecture and lecture about whatever they liked. The tidings were of little consequence at present. Only that the messenger would likely ride to the south again with little or no hope of help.  
  
The creaking of a door interrupted his mental ruminations, and the messenger came staggering out, head hung low and guided by one of the younger apprentices. Bertrand frowned. Doubtless they would be heading to the sparse guest quarters, where the unfortunate rider would get a few hours sleep before heading back from whence he had come. With a quiet whisper of fabric, the mage arose and followed. He soon found that his long experience had stood him in good stead as the apprentice entered the guest wing and led the man into a small, but tidy room. In a few moments, the lad appeared again in the hall, shutting the door soundlessly whilst shaking his head.  
  
"Young Hawkeye."  
  
The young man turned, regarding the older mage with care. "Yes? How may I be of service, sir?"  
  
Bertrand waved his hand. "None of that stuffiness around me. You have a knack for seeing things..." (It was true, the lad had earned his name by one such feat. It was now embroidered into the front of his robe as his symbol.) "Tell me, what do you know of this man, and what was his message."  
  
The apprentice looked thoughtful. "Aye. Of him I know precious little, save that he is a messenger from the south. News from there suggests that they are in a battle to keep the lands cleared of demons that keep showing themselves more frequently nowadays. However, his was a mission that did not deal with that."  
  
The lad paused momentarily, considering. "Whatever his message dealt with, it caused great consternation amongst the elders. However, as is their wont, they declined an answer, and I heard it whispered that we must look to our own defenses first. I fear that no good answer will leave with our rider." He glanced at the door. "One glance of the parchment reveals that it is written by a knight, and a second that he fears that 'these beings, if arisen again, be beyond his power - seeing he has no training in wizardly arts.' I assume that he is dealing with enemy sorcerers of some type, perhaps ancient."  
  
Bertrand chuckled warmly and nodded at the youth. "My thoughts exactly. You are using that head of yours well. Keep on my dear sir, and you shall rival me yet." Then growing serious. "But whatever happens, detain the messenger until I have a chance to speak with him. I fear that his mission requires haste, and I would know for an exactment what it entails. For though the mage tower refuse aid, when has that ever stopped Bertrand the Bold?"  
  
"No answer is required, lad." As Hawkeye struggled to think of an answer. "Think of your charge. I have inquiries to make." 


	7. Shadow's Silence

_Inquiries indeed!_

Straightway as soon as he departed the guest chambers, the mage betook himself to the upper tower, waiting impatiently outside the door to the council chamber. Presently the doors opened, and the Elders appeared with quiet decorum. Silence descended on the outer chamber, and though there were questions on many minds, none were voiced until the last member of the council had departed.  
  
A chorus of voices arose, filling the air with a chaotic sound. Like waves upon the beach, the murmur rose and fell in volume, till at last the door shut out the sounds. Bertrand sighed in relief as he made his way to the private chambers of the wizard Varcanos.  
  
The elder mage stood silent with his back to the door as Bertrand entered, bowing and shutting the door behind him. Patiently he waited to be acknowledged before speaking, both the bow and the silence marks of respect for the eldest mages of the tower. For a long time they stood thusly, until the older mage turned around, nodding to solitary man to be seated. Both took their seats on intricately carved wooden chairs bearing the forms of swans and trees.  
  
"I know why it is that you have come." The flowing white beard moved as Varcanos spoke, and he smoothed it absently with a firm hand. "I know what it is that you wish to know."  
  
"Know this then: The council has been requested to send help to the southern lands. A tiny hamlet, a village of none importance has requested our help, or rather, a simple knight has made fair to send so far for aid. And alas, will not receive it."  
  
"A darkness grows upon us, and I fear that in the greater darkness and threat of the shadow world, we may miss the ghosts of the past that arise from their graves. I speak in mannerisms only here." Turning his head, he gazed upon the man labeled by some a renegade, and regarded him with an air of knowing. "However, it is said that an old sect of dark wizards is arisen again. The knight fears that they be beyond his strength. The messenger rides south in the morning, by the will of the council alone, and it shall be so. At least, until he crosses the border... _if_ mayhap he has companions waiting, who can say?"  
  
The old mage smiled beneath his beard, nodding to his listener. "Does this suffice?"  
  
"Indeed. By your leave." Bertrand arose and bowed once more before departing the chambers. As his brightly colored robes disappeared from view, Varcanos arose and turned again to the wall. "Well, it has been done. Now come what may, at least we have done something, old friend."

* * *

It had been a forlorn farewell. To the last, the council had been courteous, but in no uncertain terms informed him that no help would be forthcoming in the near future. They had there own holdings to consider, and their ranks were already thinned from the last conflict. Of the crowds that seemed to throng about his person, the messenger wondered how many were simply apprentices, and how many skilled mages.  
  
He had ridden alone to the border of the Tower's holdings, and it was there that the other rider joined him. Lost in the failure of his mission, the lad had not acknowledged him until he spoke.  
  
"Better a little help than none?"  
  
Now Bertrand was beginning to regret his offer. Seldom did the mages leave the tower for any reason, and when it did chance to happen they were nearly always carried by wheeled conveyance. The horse that he was astride was steady, but even after a short while, Bertrand could feel the soreness that was about to plague the remainder of his journey...  
  
In their rough camp that evening, the mage stared long and hard into the blaze as though seeking there the cause of all troubles. The messenger left him to his gazing, wary of bringing any adverse word from the caster of arcane magics; words seemed to carry a greater weight among those who wielded the primal forces of the world...  
  
The days and nights passed almost too swiftly as they traveled down the lands, making for the relative shelter of the village of Tangeril. With the constant patrols by the knights stationed there, the lands surrounding were mostly free of incursions by renegades and demons. The lad stood tall in his stirrups as he held his gaze long over the road. It remained empty.  
  
Seemingly upset by this fact, the boy turned to the wizard. "M'lord, the road feels not safe this even. Look to thyself should battle befall us. The road leads straight on into the village; if we be attacked, you at least must reach thence. T'is my sacred duty to see this thing done."  
  
Bertrand nodded and resettled himself in the saddle. Hopefully the torture would end here, and if it be in battle, at least he could fire off a few fireballs before going down. The pair made hesitant journey onward, meeting no one betwixt that point and the entrance to the village. As they came in sight of the flimsy wooden stockade that surrounded the village, they were challenged by a small group of foot soldiers standing sentry.  
  
"Halt! Who goes there?"  
  
The boy stood tall in his stirrups and shouted back. "I am Sartos, a messenger of Undermane. I have been sent to the towers of the north to beg aid. My companion is Bertrand, the only mage bold enough to come to our aid in these times. Pray, give us shelter for this night and allow us to finish our mission tomorrow."  
  
The sentry who had challenged them nodded. "Come ahead then, and be welcome." His fellows stepped back from the road and vanished into the trees on either side. The two horses stepped forward at the guidance of their riders, and the footman led them into the village proper. "Leave your horses here with me, and talk to the watch commander about lodgings for the night." He pointed to a small building beside the gate that had its door open.  
  
Bertrand slid out of the saddle with a groan, using considerable willpower to avoid rubbing his backside. His guide slid down from his perch with much less trouble, and headed off towards the commander's office. The mage followed along, silently cursing the horse and the road.  
  
The watch commander didn't take too much convincing to allow them a small space to lay down their bedrolls for the night. The foot soldier had put up their horses already by the time they returned outside. After sharing a greasy stew with some of the local militia, the two lay down in their assigned spaces. Having a watch at night was a very comforting thing.

* * *

Danil stood on watch this evening, commanding the small body of footmen that stood guard around the village. Duragon had drawn patrol with other comrades for the week. The cousins therefore saw very little of one another. What bothered the knight the most however, was the absence of his messenger. Surely the boy would have returned by now, even supposing he had to delay for a day or so to explain things to the mage tower.  
  
Sudden worry creased his brow. Perhaps the lad had run into an enemy on the return trip, some demon or undead creature missed by the constant patrols. _'Perhaps...'_ His thoughts trailed off as he heard a challenge given to the darkness.  
  
_"Who goes?"  
_  
"We who trail the darkness have need of the light."  
  
A torch blazed up then, and three figures moved into its radiance. Danil strode forward to see the newcomers. A look of surprise crossed his face as they reached the circle of light. His scouts had returned.  
  
Moments later they sat across from him in the small hut that served as the command post for the village watch. The two female elves sat in silence as he digested the information that they had just provided him with. The fact that they were the ones giving him the information was quite startling in and of itself. Before this, the male had been his contact, seeing as he wasn't a full blooded elf. Relegated to serving as a go between for the elves and the humans placed him in a position only slightly higher than the humans he spoke to.  
  
Of course, the mere fact that Thallien had been injured would speak for the fact that he was not involved in the conversation. It also gave weight to the tale that he had just heard, and gave him another tangent to worry over. _Mages_.  
  
All magic users died quickly enough, _if_ you could get your steel into them, that is. The problem lay more in the fact that they tended to work well at a distance, and could conceal themselves from sight when you got close.  
  
Oh yes, mages did a whole lot of damage before they went down. The best way to counter them was to have a mage or two on your side. Danil frowned deeper. The boy had still not returned with any answer.  
  
Nassiel stood and examined her fellow student with a frown. "It's not normal magic." The wound on his side had begun to fester, despite the healing that the two elves had managed to accomplish. "Something else has been mixed with the usual energy of the spell, something that is based in corruption."  
  
Riversong stood as well and gazed impassively at her protégé. "The evil that lies within, the grasp of power that corrupts, that is what powers the spells that these mages cast. Not the elemental forces of nature."  
  
The knight scowled. "Hence we have left ourselves defenseless here against them then. I swear, evil swarms to the prey faster than vultures. By Tyr, how do we then defend ourselves?" The last not more than a murmur, though the elves still heard it.  
  
Nassiel shrugged and looked to her mentor. The elder elf looked Danil in the eye for a long moment before giving her answer. "We leave now, to summon our sisters. The wizards have no interest yet in your village. Keep to yourselves until our return. If mages can be had, so much the better, but be prepared; this cesspool of evil must be disposed of before it can taint us all."  
  
The two elves gathered their companion and vanished back into the night.

* * *

Bertrand woke early the next morning, rising unsteadily from his bedroll. Sleeping on the ground was no picnic, despite the fact that they had been inside a building all night. Hard wooden floor, thin bedroll. He hoped that the suffering he encountered during this journey was worth it. Beside him on the floor, Sartos slept the sleep of the dead. Not surprising when one considered the tiny amounts of sleep he'd been allowing himself on this return trip. If nothing else, the messengers at least took their missions seriously.  
  
The mage blinked his eyes as he stepped outside into the shadowed world of the early morning. Hints of light had begun to show in the sky, and a few shadows moved between buildings; apparently he wasn't the only one to rise with the sun.  
  
Well, at least they were within a day's ride of their destination. According to the commander of the watch, the road was kept clear by a constant patrol. Nothing should bother them until they got beyond Undermane into the forests.

* * *

Athliel turned towards her watchers. The sorceress focused momentarily on their expressions before delivering her verdict. "The magic is tainted. Where did you encounter such a thing?" 

"North of the borders, in the elder forest. Dark is the heart that wrought this; turning upon his own kind like some mad beast in heat. Save for divine favor, not one of us should have left the lair alive. Power has made him mad even as he feasted upon its forbidden fruit."

Nassiel's eyes flashed with muted anger. "He once was one of the People, but this claim he lost on whatever day he chose his fated path. His corpse lays still where we left it for all we know, though whether his evil has done is another thing entirely. May his soul rot for eternity outside the springs of life."

The vehemence with which the young elf decried her former tormentor startled the elders. As one they turned to regard her, cool gazes reflecting her visage for a long moment. Athliel was first to break the silence afterward. "Unless released, you will be consumed; unwitting fulfillment of his desire."

She then turned to Riversong, thoughts passing unspoken betwixt the two. "I shall deal with the remains of the spell that yet lingers in his blood. It would appear that they have found ways to fuel their magic with their innermost dark desires. It is this which lingers yet and wonderingly; for I deem that in most cases it would spread throughout the receptor to touch and increase darkness in the target's soul. Perhaps the gods have really intervened in this case…"

A sigh lighter than any breeze, then her attention returned to master and student. "Perhaps meditation would give you clearer perspective on this mystery while you await his return to you."

Riversong nodded and stood, golden hair wisping away as she did so. At a glance, Nassiel joined her, and together they strode out of the bower. The sorceress watched for a long moment as they disappeared into the distance. Sighing, the she elf turned to perform what was necessary to the healing of her patient. To any outside watcher it would seem that the flows of power rose and fell in majestic lightshows for hours on end. Late into the evening it continued, then fell silent as the darkness grew complete.

* * *

They felt the breeze. Master and student they stood, ensconced in the grove while the world around them moved along the graceful dance of creation. Life flowed around them, bathing them in its all encompassing embrace. Hours passed as they stood in silent meditation. As the darkness fell over the forest they ceased, refreshed in mind and body. Nassiel turned towards the elder elf as she finished.

"The healer was right, mentor mine." Expelling held breath in a sigh she continued. "The balance of nature helps to restore the balance within. It is the beauty of the creator's work."

Riversong nodded, grey eyes flashing in the last remaining traces of light. "Indeed. All things created have their natural balance, and in its flow we can find our own peace no matter what the storm. Remember this ever anon, young one."

The elder elf paused before resuming the trek towards the encampment. A slight frown was evident on her features, but vanished after the last vestiges of light finally fled. "Ah finally it is released. I had feared that the strain of continually holding the magic all this time would tell upon her."

Her student blinked in surprise, though this went unseen in the darkness. "All this time? Are things well?"

"Perhaps better than well; they are at peace."

Both rangers moved with renewed haste until they came upon the doorway to healer's hut. A faint pause while both listened to the silent sounds that emanated from the interior. As one the passed inside, to find it dark as well. Although not necessary, Nassiel nonetheless lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling to reveal Athliel draped unceremoniously over her patient's chest. Both breathed with the deep evenness of sleep.

"Shall we leave them be?" Mischief was hinted at in the tone of her voice.

Valia Riversong, elf maiden of many summers, smiled briefly. "We shall. They have need to regain their strength; therefore we shall not disturb them."

Nassiel's eyes flashed momentarily while as she took a seat in the corner to await the coming of the morning. _'Yet another elf sleeps with the halven one, though he knows it not. Much mirth they will have to endure come the morn because of the seriousness of the pain that he bore beforehand.'_ Softly the sigh escaped from her lips. _'Perhaps...'_

Athliel awoke early the next morning to find two elven faces smirking across the room at her. Pushing up from her current resting place, she took in her position. "Oh my…"


	8. A Company of Many Colors

The voice sounded from the shadows. Secundia stilled where she stood, within the hollow chambers most often used to conduct formal meetings of the council. Absence of footfalls indicated the presence of her superior and lover. He was in grievous humor now that the fool was dead.

"Yes beloved?"

His form materialized out of the darkness. "Have you yet determined what it was that befell Garrel? Though his demise falls square upon his own shoulders. The gods forbid that I should have one serve me who has control of his passions."

"Or who has the intelligence to understand the _necessity_ of control." The tone was cold, distaste for the one mentioned clearly evident. "He was a fool, and as such died. No, I have not seen what befell him yet; something in this place remembers a better time, and tampers with the spells that I use to see the tale."

"Enough to know that he fell, and that steel was involved." Secundia felt his hands rest on her shoulders and shivered. His voice continued on, "His carelessness has led someone into our midst. It must be seen to. What Garrel has set in motion could well destroy us as our pact with the Legion is tenuous at best. He shall redeem himself, I think, before he is allowed to rest."

"If you think it best. Though it would be gratifying should he not be able to sate his base desires in any fashion."

The voice seemed amused as it answered her. "That shall be given due consideration. Perhaps it will be the ideal punishment, aside from walking again the mortal plane with the knowledge that as soon as his task is done he must needs wander the outer darkness for eternity."

Hands withdrew from her shoulders, and the presence faded away. Secundia turned again to her casting, drawing in again the weaves of power and inscribing the runes. Unil was now dealing with his servant. It would be best to have something to show to him upon his return. She shivered again, though whether from cold, longing, or fear could not be determined.

* * *

It was done. The elf stared in ill concealed contempt as the mass of flesh reanimated, rising from the cold of death to live as a mockery of all who breathe. The undead creature stumbled to its feet, reflexes dulled from the smooth grace formerly attributed to it.

"Unil, what is this that you have done to me?" Air wheezed from stiffened lungs, the voice distasteful to the ear. The former elf looked at his master with fury in what remained of his visage. "What have you done...!"

The elf watched him silently as the creature manipulated its limbs, trying to bring back a sense of itself. "You brought this upon yourself with your own foolishness, Garrel."

"But what use can I be to you as dead? Better to lie in the grave and join the ancient ones than this, to walk where I should not, not able to touch, though I desire to. I cannot abide it!" His voice grew stronger in his denial, though it grew no easier on the hearing.

Unil smiled coldly, his visage hard. "No, wonder though you will. Perhaps this is better for you. Join the ancient ones? Hardly. Those giving themselves over to evil have always been condemned to walking outside the land of the dead. Wandering for eternity, cursed to forever be without rest. That, or to be bound by forces of greater good, unless they can be overcome."

"Again, this is your fate. To walk in the world until you finish what you started, and repair the breach which your lusts have brought us to. Strength is needed in the solicitation of the Legions from beyond. Strength is what they respect, if they respect anything at all. You were a weakness. You have now been dealt with. Our strength remains undiminished despite your failure."

"Go now and finish what you should not have started in the beginning."

With that parting reminder, Unil turned and seemed to melt away from sight. Garrel seethed in anger for a long moment before turning and staggering away towards the outside world. There were things that he needed to accomplish.

* * *

Far to the south now, Borqk and his warriors had finally found a quiet place to lay hidden. Close to where the internment camps for the orcish clans had been, the area was strangely deserted. Rumors had abounded to the north where his band had hidden that a new warchief had arisen to rally the Horde. That was why they had started on their journey. Demons had pursued them on the way, fell creatures that before had been summoned to their aid, now seeking orcish blood.

Moving undetected through the territory of the former Alliance had not been easy, but vigilance had waned with the imprisonment or destruction of the greatest part of the Horde. Human sentries and patrols no longer had the advantage of elven eyes and ears, the elves of Silverymoon having withdrawn from the Alliance at the end of the conflict.

Few now indeed were left among humankind, mainly being those whose main focus lay with the arcane arts. A few clerics as well, their humility allowing them to accept a lesser place than that which might have been accorded to them. For whatever reasons, Borqk was grateful for the break in the ranks.

At the moment, three of his warriors were scouting the lay of the land. It was the hope of the sub-chief that a message had been left before the Horde had departed, a message to any stragglers who might happen by. His hope was not disappointed.

His scouts returned one by one, entering the glade after furtively checking for adversaries. "What have you seen?"

"News, my chief!" The first scout spoke up, his face fairly glowing. "The Warchief Thrall lies yet in the harbor, preparing to embark to a new land. We are to join him at once."

"Hellscream is with him, my chief!" Another voice interjected.

The band gathered round in eagerness as they watched their leader ponder the information. When at last he turned to them, a new fire gleamed in his eyes. "Prepare to join the Warchief. We march to join the Horde!"

Letting out a roar of approval, the orcish warriors followed Borqk out of the glade and towards the ocean.

* * *

Danil stood alone at the remnants of the sentry post. The night watch was ended, and the patrols had moved farther from the village during the daylight hours. In retrospect, he should really be back in the village asleep, but the problems that weighed on his mind refused to allow him that luxury. _'Wizards.'_

Even troubled thoughts could not overcome the weariness of the night watch and the warmth of the daylight that fell into the clearing. The knight dozed on his feet, never sensing the approach of the four figures that materialized out of the background of the forest. A subdued shout awoke him.

"_Sir Danil!"_

He jerked to awareness, seeing the elves as they spread out around him like leaves scattered by the wind. Each ranger had an arrow upon the string while the sorceress readied herself to hinder the progress of any nearby foe. The knight had to pause for a moment at the absurdity of it all. Here they were worried that he had been taken by some unseen foe, when the reality was that he had succumbed to the lure of sleep.

"Hold, I am well. I fear that the only enemy that hath beset is my own self. The night watch has long since been to their sleep, but like any fool would, I chose the worst place to do so." He groaned as he shifted in his armor, holding up a hand to forestall any help from the elf standing nearby. "I came here merely to think, but I fear that I fell into the subtle embrace of sleep."

The elves gave no visible sign of relief other than returning arrows to quivers. Not even the daily patrols made them lose their vigilance, even in times of peace and solitude. For an elven ranger, there never was such a time.

Striving valiantly to stifle a yawn, Danil managed to voice the question foremost on his mind at the moment. "Have you any word from your comrades in arms? Say they what time permits them to pursue this matter?"

Stern faces met his question in silence. Finally Riversong spoke. "I regret that I must bear this news. Our kin have moved beyond all call of aid; they have returned to our homeland. We can count on none but those you see here, although each of us is pledged to the destruction of evil wherever it may take root."

Nassiel raised an eyebrow imperceptibly before interrupting any further conversation. "One comes."

A few moments later, even the knight himself could pick up on the rustling of the blades of grass and the clanking of plated armor. A footman strode into the clearing his face bent to a purpose.

"Sir Danil, the knight commander requests your immediate presence." Seeing the older knight's stare, he explained further. "Messenger, sir. Yours I think?"

"Ah, I see. Very well then, we shall return to the commander where I shall present myself with all haste. Thank you soldier."

The footman nodded and clanked his way hurriedly towards town, his duty as a messenger concluded and returning now with haste to his prior post. Behind him armor clanked as the knight followed, the elves melting into the edges of the forest were silent.

They arrived together at the central building, elven boots keeping silent time with the knight's ponderous footfalls. Inside the structure Bertrand glanced over at the two knights who were keeping him company. The younger knight, Duragon nodded to him. As Danil and his entourage appeared in the doorway, the knight commander stood and cleared his throat. This immediately drew all attention to him and he motioned that those newly arrived should take seats.

As they sat upon the rough wooden benches that populated the building, the white haired knight gazed around the room at the occupants. To his right was the mage Bertrand and the young messenger Sartos. On his left hand Duragon Trollbane, with four elves and Danil sitting in full attention before him.

"Now then," the old man's voice echoed slightly in the mostly empty chamber, "perhaps I could have a full explanation for the dark rumors that trouble you Danil Braveheart."

"Aye, very well."

Danil rose to tell the tale in whole, of all the circumstance and happenstance that had brought about his actions. The rest held their silence throughout the telling, Duragon only revealing his disclosure of the darkness encroaching to the commander to his cousin. The older knight nodded, saying nothing either to condemn or praise what he had done.

When he finished his missive, the commander stood again bidding him to be seated again and for Bertrand to rise and unfold the reply from Tower. The mage stood slowly, smoothing his brilliant colored robes as he did so. Turning without haste he nodded to Sartos who opened the missive that the tower had given him and handed it over to the mage. Without ceremony or ritual Bertrand read aloud the simple reply.

"_To the knight contingent stationed in the Village of Undermane."_

"_From the Council of Mages, Overseers of the Tower."_

"_We hereby acknowledge both your missive and the messenger that brought the same._

_It is with great regret that we return to you very little help upon your hour of need. For_

_although the darkness you describe seems great, a greater challenge lays upon us from_

_the crown, and how we shall answer both perplexes us."_

"_It seems best then that our representative should accompany you and report back to us_

_on the current state of things. We leave you to his most capable judgment."_

"Signed by the senior members of the Tower." Bertrand stared at the letter for a moment before snorting in derision. Muttering quietly to himself, his fingers worked quickly to re-roll the parchment_. "Most capable judgment indeed. Varcanos got his fingers into the pie before they finished baking it I'd bet."_

With a grim smile he turned and faced Danil head on. "I, good knight, am Bertrand the Bold, often described as a mage of some power and greater talent for bothering all those who surround me. I am told that this especially applies to those who stand greatly upon the cornerstone of contempt and the platform of pomp and ceremony. However, I'll see what it is that bothers your little lives down here so that I can return and pursue _weightier_ matters with my brother wizards." Only a hint of sarcasm could be detected in his tone.

His gaze turned to assess the assembled elves. His voice was hard when he spoke. "Ah, what have we here but soldiers all; masters of the blade and bow. Only one of you here has any understanding of the flows of magic, and by all chance has just arrived here at the behest of her fellows. And you or the knights yonder have chanced to see some rogue mage running amok?"

Athliel stood with refined grace in defense of those around her. "Perhaps it _is_ as has been implied by many who have had dealings with us, that the elves are an arrogant people. I do not deny this." Her eyes flashed imperceptibly as she continued her rebuttal.

"However, we have none in present company as arrogant as you, Mage Bertrand."

"Perhaps it would be wise to see and understand the basis for the story then to dismiss it out of hand as the mad ravings of the uneducated. It does not take anything besides eyes and ears swift of hearing to understand that magic is used against yourself, even if the senses belong to a humble footman. And even great kings suffer from stupidity." Her smile was grim, but Bertrand could feel the dry humor behind it.

"I do, as you have implied, have some understanding of the flow of magic. Perhaps _my_ observations would hold weight with you?"

The mage nodded without speaking and Athliel continued. "There was brought to my care one that had been struck by a simple form of elemental magic. Standard runic casting, except for one fact; the spell lingered yet in the blood, and that despite minor healing. Upon closer examination of the flows that lingered, I was presented with two flows that tangled in such a way as to present a single thread to the untrained eye. One was the elemental power of fire, but the other..."

"The other was something that I have never seen before in any casting by human or elf. It was a dark thread of desire; lust, a burning passion. It was this thread that bound the spell into the body of the recipient and held it there to fester and eat away at the core of his being." She hesitated before stating her conclusion, face carefully neutral.

"It was consistent with spells used by the demonic spellcasters that the horde summoned."

Bertrand stiffened and the rest of the room stilled with that pronouncement. It took a startled gasp from the young messenger to bring life back into the room. _"De-emons? Here?"_

"No." Valia Riversong stood now and all eyes turned to her. "The caster was an elf."

Bertrand waved a hand towards the assembled. "Well then, I fail to see why either the Council or even the knights of Lordaeron were necessary to this. It is one of your own; you elves should deal with it."

"If that were all that it was, chances are that you would never have divined this from anyone; by the time that the messenger arrived we had already located his lair and disposed of him. Unfortunately he is not alone in this endeavor. There are humans there and other beings, spellcasters all. That they are studying in secret arts that are forbidden to those without any guidance; is this not a concern of the Council and said worthy knights?"

The female elf touched the tip of her ear with the forefinger of her right hand before nodding in Bertrand's direction. "But perchance it may be necessary for the honored mage to view with his own eyes what others have risked life upon. It is upon this that we now prepare to embark."

"Time however, waits for no _man_." With this slightly cryptic remark she returned to her seat.

The 'Esteemed Mage' was red faced and rightly so, for he had understood somewhat the insult that the ranger had tendered him. His voice when he spoke was controlled, but hinted of the ire that lay behind. "Very well. I shall view this matter for myself and judge what must be done, as I was instructed. Hopefully it is of the _urgent_ nature that you have ascribed to it."

Sartos shifted uncomfortably beside him as he sat down again. Bertrand felt pity for the lad, seeing as he had been made to attend this meeting by the decree of the knight commander. _'The lad has not the heart for this dull stuff. Though to be fair, he looked shaken enough when he decried 'demon' for the elf. Ah to be young and full of fire again!'_ The sound of heavy feet upon the wooden floor brought his attention back to the knight commander.

Rising, the old knight looked out over the persons gathered, eyes still hard in the face that fought back every wrinkle. He had heard hard news today, but ever the soldier, was now pondering on how best to meet the danger. The voice that demanded respect from hardened soldiers now spoke in firm tones as he outlined a new mission. Resources were few, but the ones that were available would be put to the best use he could manage.

Firm, grim tones ordered the knights present on the provisions that they were to take with them. "You'll find expedient to prepare yourselves as if going on distant patrol. Danil, you and Duragon are all that can be spared from the patrol. Amlius has recovered enough to oversee the city watch, which will give us just enough men to cover the necessary areas; things seem to be quieter nowadays."

"Mage Bertrand, your escort will be comprised of these two gallants and the boy. I fear that I can spare no others for the journey, but their courage and honor are beyond reproach. You need have no fear with them."

Turning to the elves, the old man's eyes softened just a bit, though his voice remained the same. "Peace be unto the People; accompany them if it be your will to do so."

Valia replied as the head of the company. "Unto you peace. We have given our word to see this thing through, and so we will lead into the darkness, hoping always that the light shall find us."

Nodding, the commander dismissed the gathering, leaving the party to gather such things as were necessary before the start of the journey.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Is anyone reading this? Please take the time to review and let me know whether I should continue to bother posting. I do appologize for the length of time that it has taken me to post this last chapter.

I seem to either write epics or one-shots.

Thanks to JCAE for the one review of this story. If you are reading this, go read "Ranger General". A _very_ well done Warcraft fiction.


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